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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25806907">(the devil's in the details but) you got a friend in me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectandchaotic/pseuds/imperfectandchaotic'>imperfectandchaotic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Little Voice (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, I just love this show a lot okay?, I've never created a whole ass fandom page before but here we go</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 11:08:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,551</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25806907</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectandchaotic/pseuds/imperfectandchaotic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They haven’t spoken in almost a week.</p>
<p>He should hang up. <br/>He doesn’t hang up. </p>
<p>(Cause he’s a lovesick fool.)</p>
<p>“Bess?” A long pause. She inhales again, shakily; Samuel sits up straight. “Bess. Is that you?” </p>
<p>(or: a spiralling Bess drunk dials Samuel. Post 1.06)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bess King/Samuel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>(the devil's in the details but) you got a friend in me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm just so emo about this show and the music and Brittany O'Grady's talent and Colton Ryan's heart eyes.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He has no idea what time it is when his phone drags him from sleep, but Samuel pulls it to his ear without looking, groggy and disoriented. </p>
<p>“Hello?”</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>“Benny, I swear to god if you’re about to tell me watch the video again–” </p>
<p>There’s a hiccup, then an inhale that he’d know anywhere, least of all because of how long he’s spent with it in his ears in each recorded track and voice note they’ve passed between them. They haven’t spoken in almost a week.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He should hang up. </p>
<p>He doesn’t hang up. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>(Cause he’s a lovesick fool.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bess?” A long pause. She inhales again, shakily; Samuel sits up straight. “Bess. Is that you?” </p>
<p>
  <em>“Samuel?”  </em>
</p>
<p>She’s been crying, that much is obvious. He jumps out of bed, grabbing the first shirt within reach, struggling into it with one hand. “What happened? Where are you? Are you–”<br/>
<em><br/>
“I’m fine.” </em> Bess is <em> not </em> fine. Is she drunk? <em> “I’m at home. Don’t come over, I’m fine.”</em></p>
<p>His roaring heartbeat slows into something that he can at least swallow over. Samuel blinks until the familiar moonlight angles of his apartment take shape, banishing the extreme panic. He thinks of the regret that had curled in his stomach the other night that he’d left her at the bar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shouldn’t have left. </p>
<p>She’d told him to, hadn’t she?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>“I’m so sorry Samuel. God, I was a total bitch to you and you don’t deserve it…” </em>
</p>
<p>He doesn’t know how to respond to that. Maybe he’s a little more petty than he thought. </p>
<p>“What happened?” Samuel asks again, softer this time. Bess hiccups again. He reaches for his jeans. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>(He shouldn’t go. </p>
<p>But he refuses to feel that kind of regret again.) </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is Louie okay?” he prompts when Bess doesn’t answer. She hums. “Your dad?”</p>
<p><em>“He’s still super mad that we ruined his birthday.” </em> Samuel winces as he takes the stairs two at a time. <em> “And my dad…” </em></p>
<p>Bess trails off. It takes concentrated effort not to push her again; Sam channels that energy into hailing the first cab he sees, pulling his muted phone away from his ear to give her address.</p>
<p>“You can tell me.” </p>
<p>He listens to her take several deep breaths. </p>
<p>
  <em>“The asshole at the record store accused him of trying to steal one. I had to go pay him off so he wouldn’t press charges.”</em>
</p>
<p>Suddenly the cake thing makes so much more sense. </p>
<p><em>“I thought he was just being a dick and didn’t care about Louie calling him all upset, I thought it was just an </em> accident <em> , but then–”</em></p>
<p>Dread pools in the pit of Samuel’s stomach. </p>
<p>
  <em>“It turns out Louie never called him.”</em>
</p>
<p>He can only swear noiselessly in the back of the cab, shaking his head. Bess’ words ring in his ears. <em> A lot of people have a lot.  </em></p>
<p>“Bess–” </p>
<p>
  <em>“Please don’t say anything. I just can’t take pity right now.”</em>
</p>
<p>Samuel tightens his grip on his phone and wills NYC traffic to move a little faster. “Okay.” It feels like they sit in silence for a long time, but at this point he’s just grateful that she hasn’t panicked and hung up on him. </p>
<p>
  <em>“I’m such a mess, Samuel. Even Prisha thinks so. She’s out with Ananya just to avoid me.” </em>
</p>
<p>“I’m sure that’s not what she’s doing. And even if it was...you’re allowed to be a mess sometimes, Bess.” </p>
<p>She snorts, then sniffs. He’s made it to her building. Samuel manages to slide through the lobby doors behind someone else. How the hell does her building not have an elevator? </p>
<p>
  <em>“I shouldn’t be dragging everyone into my shit. Listen to me. I’m drunk dialling the one person in New York who probably hates me the most.” </em>
</p>
<p>“You know that’s not true,” he insists, craning his neck up the three remaining flights of stairs. “I’m sure that the receptionist at Electric Lady has a few choice words for you.” </p>
<p>Bess laughs, watery and weak, but it blooms warmth in his chest all the same. </p>
<p>“I don’t hate you,” he says. “Promise.”</p>
<p>
  <em>“Where are you? You sound funny.” </em>
</p>
<p>“Nowhere,” Samuel lies. “How was the rest of Louie’s birthday?” </p>
<p>She explains the finer details of their descent into Broadway appreciation as he clears the last landing. Now that he’s finally in front of Bess and Prisha’s door, Samuel’s not sure he can summon the nerve. </p>
<p>“He loves you more than one day or an ice cream cake. People don’t skip out on BroadwayCon just for anyone, you know.” </p>
<p>Bess doesn’t say anything to that. He knocks before he can chicken out.</p>
<p>
  <em>“I think Prish forgot her keys. I don’t want her to see me like this.”</em>
</p>
<p>“She doesn’t care.” </p>
<p>Samuel knocks again, just for good measure. There’s a series of disjointed noises from behind the door and in his ear, as though Bess has to struggle to her feet and put down her glass. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He shouldn’t have done this.  </p>
<p>He should still be mad at her. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>(He isn’t.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The door swings open. Bess leans on it like she needs the support; Samuel has to rock back on his heels to keep from reaching for her. She squints at him, frowning down at their call still going in her hand. Bess hangs up and Samuel tries to feel nothing over it. </p>
<p>Her hair is half pulled up, her t-shirt cropped, her shorts tiny. She has socks with dogs on them. </p>
<p>He has to avoid staring and smiling at the same time. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>(God, he’s so fucked.)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I told you not to come.”</p>
<p>Samuel’s heart falls. </p>
<p>“I know.” She doesn’t slam the door in his face, which he takes as a good sign. “And if you want me to go away, I will.” </p>
<p>Bess’ chin wobbles. Samuel takes a tentative step forward. “I’m sorry for what I said to you.” </p>
<p>“Well you were right,” she says, slurring. “I’m fucked up.”</p>
<p>He shakes his head. “You’re not fucked up. I shouldn’t have said any of that. You and Ethan–” She flinches and Samuel hates himself a little. “It’s none of my business.”</p>
<p>He’s halfway inside her doorway. Bess doesn’t retreat, even though tears are pooling in her eyes. </p>
<p>“He told me he was going to leave her,” she whispers. “And then he didn’t.”</p>
<p>A white, hot anger sears through his chest. Samuel stops before he can touch her and let his instincts override his reason. “I’m sorry.” Bess shakes her head, almost desperately. Over her shoulder Samuel can see her and Prisha’s apartment, turned upside down as though by a tornado. </p>
<p>“What happened tonight?” </p>
<p>Her breath trembles on the way in and again on the way out.</p>
<p>“My notebook. It’s gone. Must’ve left it on the J and now it’s…”  Up close, he can tell she’s just as drunk as she’d been at the club, if not more. She makes a lackadaisical gesture. “Just like everything else.” </p>
<p>Like the final back breaking straw, Bess slips on her floor; Samuel can only spring forward to catch her. She leans into him as though she has no control over her own body and he’s suddenly very aware of his hands on her waist, her arm. The memory of the club burns behind his eyes.</p>
<p>“I gotcha,” Samuel says, for lack of anything else. “I’ve got you, Bess.” </p>
<p>He thinks about that slimeball producer and has to remind himself not to tighten his grip. They’re alone in her apartment. She’s safe. <em> Keep it together, dude. </em>Bess huffs into his neck, like a choked laugh. Samuel aims a well-placed kick at her front door, and the silence of her empty apartment as it closes feels unbearable. </p>
<p>“Had any water yet tonight?” he asks, taking in the apartment with as little curiosity as he can manage. Samuel doesn’t know Prisha very well but he can see where she and Bess overlap in their decor. The open doorway leading to a bedroom can only be Bess’ – fairy lights just like these hang in her storage unit. </p>
<p>Her hair tickles as she shakes her head. Bess doesn’t resist as Samuel tugs her gently into the kitchen. There’s a bottle of Jack on the table and a glass on the floor; Ella lifts her head from beside it and looks up at him as if to say, <em> are you going to do something about this?  </em></p>
<p>He’s being shamed by a dog. </p>
<p>Samuel deposits Bess into a chair, clearing away the glass and the bottle. She doesn’t say anything and he can only be grateful for small blessings as he steps out of his shoes. A drinking glass is easy enough to find and the tap turns cold quickly. He glances over his shoulder to check that Bess is still conscious; Ella’s nails click on the hardwood and she’s smoothing the dog’s ears, staring at nothing as he approaches. </p>
<p>“Here.” Samuel crouches down to meet Bess’ eye, waiting until her grip is firm on the glass before he lets go. “Drink slow, okay?” </p>
<p>He doesn’t move until she takes three sips and puts her water down on the table.“Wanna lie down?” Before he can stand, Bess’ hand lands on his chest, curling just a little into the collar of his shirt. </p>
<p>“Samuel?” </p>
<p>She sounds very <em> small </em>. An ache lurches behind his ribs. It’s hard to decide who is more to handle: the livid Bess who spits fire, or this quiet version of her that seems to be drowning in her sadness. Samuel puts his own hand over hers. </p>
<p>“Yeah, Bess?” </p>
<p>Her voice breaks. “What’s wrong with me?” </p>
<p>“Hey, <em> nothing. </em>” He’s reaching before he can overthink it, cupping her face so she has to look him in the eye. “Nothing’s wrong with you.” </p>
<p>“Then why can’t I stop pushing people away? You said–”</p>
<p>“Forget what I said, I was being an asshole.” Samuel shakes his head.  </p>
<p>“But you’re right,” she insists, too adamantly for him to feel anything but shame over it. “I don’t let anyone care about me. I push everyone away so they... so they can’t–” </p>
<p>Tears spill over her cheeks. Samuel almost doesn’t say it. “What, so they can’t hurt you?” </p>
<p>Bess’ face crumples and her shoulders cave in. He can only draw her to the floor with him as her hand on his chest becomes a grip on his collar. Ella whines, circling as Samuel wraps both arms around Bess. He leans on the table, smooths his hand up her spine to the base of her neck, and down again. </p>
<p>Bess shudders. </p>
<p>“People care about you,” Samuel says firmly. “Prisha, Benny, your brother, your father. <em> I </em>care about you, you know that. None of us want to hurt you. Push me away all you want, but that isn’t going to change.”</p>
<p>Her breath hitches, wet and warm over his collarbone. Bess leans into him –more intentional than before– so Samuel just folds her closer, until he can feel her heart hammering beside his. </p>
<p>“It’s okay to be a mess. It’s okay to want to do everything yourself because that’s what you’ve had to do forever, but…” </p>
<p>He leans back, brushing at Bess’ tear-streaked face with the side of his hand. “It's okay to let people help you, Bess. You can let people in, sometimes.”</p>
<p>Samuel smiles as gently as he knows how and gets a weak one in return. </p>
<p>“You’re too nice to me.” Bess says it like an accusation. “Why are you so nice to me?”</p>
<p>He has to rearrange his expression into something that hopefully doesn’t read, <em>because</em> <em>I’m sort of in love with you. </em>“C’mon.”</p>
<p>“Where are we going?” she asks, unresisting as he pulls her carefully to her feet. </p>
<p>“To bed. Well, <em> you’re </em> going to bed.” Her socks slide across the floor. As he leans to steady her, Samuel bangs his head on the underside of the table. “Ow, fuck.” Bess giggles; he has to remind himself not to find her so adorable when she’s plastered out of her mind. “Don’t make me carry you over there.”</p>
<p>“Oh you wouldn’t <em> dare</em>.” Bess’ head lolls a little against his shoulder, pointing a finger that’s probably supposed to be at his face but instead points at the ceiling. Samuel just raises an eyebrow. He leans down and sweeps her up into his arms, adjusting his grip with only minor difficulty as Bess laughs. </p>
<p>Her skin is very soft.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s trying not to think about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re very strong, Samuel. I’m impressed.” </p>
<p>“That’s me,” he says as Ella leads them helpfully into Bess’ room. “Very impressive.” </p>
<p>She sighs a little into the slope of his neck; it takes everything in Samuel not to blush. Bess’ dog eyes them from her little bed as he studies the colourful duvet, pulled over on one side already. Samuel is expecting gravity to do most of the work as he eases Bess down onto her mattress. What he’s not expecting is her arm still looped around his neck, dragging his weight down with her. </p>
<p>They almost crack heads, but Samuel anchors himself with one hand just in time. “That could’ve been bad.”<br/>
<br/>
Their faces are alarmingly close. He can see tiny freckles on her cheeks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s trying not to think about it. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bess giggles again, seemingly unfazed. Her hand is still on his shoulder; wandering fingers find the hair curling behind his ear and Samuel has to force himself to stay very, very still. He wonders if she can feel the shiver that’s zipped all the way down to his toes. Bess smiles up at him and he’s struck with the urge to just lean down a mere few inches to kiss her, so suddenly that he has to swallow the feeling. </p>
<p>“Are you going to leave me here?” </p>
<p>She still sounds drunk, but there’s a vulnerable undercurrent to the question. He still wants to kiss her. Samuel settles for brushing a piece of hair away from her face instead. “Not if you don’t want me to.” </p>
<p>Bess shakes her head. Something close to relief floods his bones. </p>
<p>“Let me just get your water, okay?” </p>
<p>She’s blinking heavily when he returns. Samuel leans over to pull her duvet up around her shoulders. He’s not even fully turned away from the bed before calloused fingers grab his. </p>
<p>“I thought you weren’t leaving me,” Bess says, frowning in a way that’s <em> not </em>stupidly cute. Samuel looks from her face to their hands; her fingers seem so much more delicate when they’re not covered in rings and curved over piano keys. </p>
<p>“I’ll just be on the couch.” She just frowns deeper. Bess pulls with a strength he had no idea she possessed, and Samuel is too surprised to do anything but follow, hovering above the covers.</p>
<p>“Are you sure?” </p>
<p>He glances at Ella, who’s already asleep.</p>
<p>“I’m sure.” Bess looks very serious for the first time tonight. </p>
<p>He lets out a careful breath and sinks slowly onto the bed on top of the blanket. Seemingly satisfied, she settles herself into her pillow, still blinking very slowly. Her hand goes lax around his. Samuel watches his fingers move almost of their own volition, tracing the edge of her palm, her wrist, stroking gently up her arm.</p>
<p>“Okay?” he asks, almost a whisper, because who knows what time it is, if this is alright. She nods. He can’t stop looking at her face. </p>
<p>“For what it’s worth,” Samuel says, the words out before he can take them back, “I’m sorry about Ethan. Guy’s a jerk for leading you on like that.” </p>
<p>Bess just shrugs. She looks <em> small </em>again. He thinks she might fall asleep, but then:</p>
<p>“Samuel?”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“What if I don’t have any more songs?”</p>
<p>He has to smother a deeply fond laugh. Samuel touches her temple, if only to prove his point. “They’re up here, Bess. There’s a million other notebooks. You’re the one writing in them.” </p>
<p>Bess’ eyes are closing. “Can we write a song tomorrow?”</p>
<p>“Sure we can.”</p>
<p>“Promise?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>God, he’s so <em> fucked</em>. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Promise.” </p>
<p>And just like that, Bess is asleep. Samuel looks at her until he can’t anymore. </p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>*</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>He wakes up very warm. </p>
<p>Unlike the dramatic jolt from sleep the night before, Samuel is drawn into consciousness very slowly. So much is unfamiliar: the lights, the window, the weight across his chest. Bess’ hair tickles his chin. She’s somehow rolled over, duvet and all, clinging to his shirt with one hand. Even with the blanket between them, Samuel can feel her knee caught between his. </p>
<p>He’s holding her. His arm cradling her head, wrapped around her back, keeps Bess against him. Samuel stares at his hand on her shoulder like it doesn’t even belong to him. What is going <em> on </em>with his limbs? </p>
<p>But it’s...<em> nice.  </em></p>
<p>(It’s nicer than nice, but that’s a train of thought that Samuel’s been trying very hard not to follow.) </p>
<p> </p>
<p>He should move. </p>
<p>He doesn’t want to move. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Samuel looks up at the ceiling as if it’ll give him strength. He catches his fingers trailing up and down Bess’ bare arm, just as unconscious and instinctive as before. But she doesn’t wake. If anything, Bess just presses closer. His face feels very hot, suddenly.</p>
<p>Samuel curses silently at no one. There’s a gentle huffing noise and he glances over to realize that Ella’s <em> staring.  </em></p>
<p>She’s judging him, he can tell. </p>
<p>
  <em> Get it together.  </em>
</p>
<p>By some miracle, Samuel manages to slide out from underneath Bess without waking her. He tries not to stare, but his chest warms when Bess curls into the space he’d just vacated, like an instinct. Samuel tiptoes out of the room and nearly shouts when he lifts his head to find Prisha sitting at the kitchen table, grinning at him. </p>
<p><em> “Fuck,” </em>he hisses, glaring as she barely holds down laughter. “You scared the shit out of me!” </p>
<p>“Sorry.” Prisha doesn’t sound sorry at all. “I was wondering which one of you would wake up first.” </p>
<p>A flush rises up Samuel’s neck. He’d left Bess’ bedroom door open all night.</p>
<p>“Nothing happened, I know. God, your face Samuel.” Her roommate is still smiling, but there’s something softer in it now. “You’re very obviously both fully clothed, and you’re clearly not that kind of guy.” </p>
<p>His heart jumps uncomfortably. </p>
<p>“She call you last night?”</p>
<p>He nods. Some of the relief he’d felt earlier must be visible, because Prisha looks it, too.“Good,” she says. “I’m glad. I’ve been really worried about her lately.” </p>
<p>Samuel just nods again. “Me too.” </p>
<p>She studies him for a moment longer; he feels distinctly like he’s being tested. </p>
<p>“Coffee?” Prisha asks, getting up abruptly.</p>
<p>“Yeah, that’d be great.” </p>
<p>She offers him a hot mug a minute later, following his unwitting gaze to Bess’ still open doorway. Samuel should be embarrassed probably, but there’s something very safe in Prisha’s understanding expression. </p>
<p>“Where’s Ananya?” he asks, desperate for something else to talk about. </p>
<p>“Home. Figured we’d let Bess cool off before she came back.” </p>
<p>Makes sense, honestly. “You guys play together, right? A band?” </p>
<p>Prisha nods. She seems nervous, suddenly. “Yeah.” Samuel isn’t sure what his face is doing, because she blurts, “We’re um, she’s– I’m not...out, really.” </p>
<p>He takes a careful sip before he speaks. “That’s cool. No worries.” </p>
<p>“Thanks.” </p>
<p>Her relief is so much more palpable now.</p>
<p>They drink coffee in surprisingly companionable silence. Samuel can’t remember the last time he shared a morning like this with someone else. </p>
<p>“There’s extra toothbrushes under the sink,” Prisha says when she finishes. “Help yourself to whatever in the fridge, if you wanna wait for Bess.” </p>
<p>“Who’s waiting for me?” </p>
<p>Samuel has to fight the urge to whip his head around like he’s been caught. Bess blinks at him, clearly surprised in mid stretch of her arms over her head; he drags his eyes away from the skin of her stomach. </p>
<p>“Samuel.” </p>
<p>“Hey sleepyhead,” he says. The familiar, dry sarcasm that always irks her does the trick. Bess’ expression clears from guarded to almost fond. “Glad you finally decided to join the land of the living.” </p>
<p>Samuel can feel Prisha’s gaze swinging back and forth like she’s watching a tennis match. The back of his neck warms. </p>
<p>“You stayed.” </p>
<p>It’s not quite a question, but the inflection is there in her eyes. He can only hold her stare and hope it’s saying what he wants. “You asked me to.” </p>
<p>Bess looks vaguely shocked, the way she had that day in his apartment<em> . When you sing, your soul is all over your face.  </em></p>
<p>(He stands by that assessment.) </p>
<p>She’s unsure now– he can tell. So Samuel tilts his head, smiling. “Coffee? We’ve got things to do today.” </p>
<p>“Things?” Bess echoes. But she sits down, accepts Prisha’s newly offered mug. Her roommate disappears into her room with a wave.</p>
<p>“New notebook, new songs. Still want to write?” </p>
<p>Samuel can see the wheels turning in her mind. He wonders how Bess feels about last night in the daylight, if she remembers everything. But this is the best out he can give her, if it turns out she can’t– or maybe doesn’t want to. </p>
<p>“Yeah.” Bess smiles tentatively over the rim of her mug and he catalogues all its edges, to recall the next time they argue. The air feels heavy with everything they’re not saying, but Samuel can’t bring himself to mind. “I’d love to write with you.” </p>
<p>There’s nothing he would rather do. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Just watch Little Voice please.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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